The Transmigrated Villain Claims the Heroines!

I had the entire day to myself. Faye was still tied up in the conclave meeting, Anastasia and Edward were on their way to my capital, and my plan to force my own awakening was still weeks away.

At the moment, I had nothing better to do, and if this had been my past life, I would have spent the day rotting in bed and waiting for things to happen.

But I really couldn’t afford to do that now.

I knew for a fact that the moment I tried to enjoy some time alone, something would come along and ruin it. Better to make myself useful instead.

As I walked toward my estate’s training room, I was greeted by a beautiful glass garden, its walls and roof made of clear and frosted glass. Flowers and all kinds of greenery lined the edges, softening the whole space.

The rain tapping against the roof only added to the ambience.

It was the kind of place you’d see on social media and wish you could step into yourself.

But as beautiful as it was, I was here to train.

Beautiful as the edges were, the square center was anything but, scarred with cuts and jagged grooves deep enough to make you mistake it for a tiger’s den.

And in the middle of that center stood a powered-down mechanical android, its brass, steam, and electrical components silent yet imposing.

A five-hundred-thousand-gold machine—an all-in-one training partner that could turn anyone into a grandmaster swordsman.

Hopefully, that "anyone" included someone from another world like me.

I stepped closer.

Up close, the machine felt heavier, not just physically, but in presence. Polished brass plating overlapped like armor, faint seams tracing along its limbs. Thin lines of etched runes ran across its frame, dull now but clearly meant to glow when active. Its head tilted slightly downward, featureless except for a narrow visor where its eyes would be.

Waiting.

There was a control panel off to the side, thankfully labeled. Even in a world like this, some things never change. I scanned it quickly.

Mode Selection.

Difficulty Scaling.

Weapon Simulation.

Adaptive Response.

Adaptive didn’t sound beginner-friendly.

"Let’s not get ahead of ourselves," I muttered, tapping the lowest setting.

The panel hummed.

Then...

Click.

The android’s frame shuddered once, like something ancient waking up. A low mechanical whirr followed as internal components began to spin. The runes flickered, dim at first, then brighter. Its head lifted, and two thin lines of pale blue light cut through the visor.

Okay.

Mildly terrifying.

A practice blade slid from its forearm with a clean metallic snap. I grabbed one from the rack nearby, lighter than expected, or maybe this body was just ridiculous again.

Either way, I took a step forward.

"So how does this work—"

The android moved. No warning, no wind-up.

Just forward.

I barely got my blade up.

CLANG!

The impact shot down my arms, rattling my bones. That was the lowest setting!?

It didn’t pause. It adjusted. Then came again, slower, cleaner, measured. Like it was testing me.

CLANG!

Still rough and still just as ugly. But I didn’t get pushed back as far.

Alright. So that’s how it’s going to be.

The next strike came from the side. I blocked, barely.

Too slow, too wide. My stance was off, my footing even worse.

Every movement felt just a fraction too late, like my body was trying to remember something it had never learned, likely Cassian’s own technique and my own experience.

The android didn’t rush me. It simply kept going.

Strike and adjust, strike and adjust. Like a teacher who didn’t speak but didn’t forgive mistakes either.

Minutes passed.

Or longer.

I honestly lost track. Sweat built along my neck despite the cool air. My breathing grew heavier, uneven, arms ached.

CLANG!

Too slow.

CLANG!

Too stiff.

CLANG—

I missed.

The blade slipped past my guard and stopped an inch from my throat.

The android froze.

Silent, and waiting. It’s piercing artificial eyes staring straight at me, waiting for the slightest command.

"Right," I said between breaths, staring at the unmoving edge. "Guess I died."

I stepped back, putting some distance between us as I wiped the sweat from my neck, unbuttoned my shirt, and carelessly dropped it to the ground. Even in the cold weather, training made sure that hardly mattered.

"Shit, I’m sweating a lot..."

I panted, but after taking a minute to recover, I fixed my gaze on the machine once more and readied my stance.

"Again!"

The machine responded at once, swinging in a swift cleave toward my liver. I managed to catch it, then slid along its blade in an attempt to cut into its body, but it was fast—stupidly fast.

CLANG!

I was nowhere near as skilled as the original Cassian, but I was far from a beginner. This wasn’t the first time I’d used a sword, after all.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

We clashed again and again, each exchange ending with its blade just inches away from killing me. But with every clash, I adapted to it more and more, my long-abandoned hobby returning to me the longer I sparred with it.

As much as I hated to admit it...

My failed career as a HEMA professional was finally becoming useful.

CLANG!

"Ah!"

I lost my grip on my sword, sending it flying backward before it impaled itself on a wooden rack filled with spears. The recoil from being disarmed made my hand tremble with pain.

The pain alone was enough to make me reconsider training like this and just rely on guns instead. This world wasn’t exactly short on firearms, after all. But... if I really wanted to grow stronger, guns were definitely not the best path.

They were too limited.

Especially when it came to awakening.

For some godforsaken reason, they simply didn’t work well with the magic that came from awakening.

"This is going to take a while..."

...Or so I thought.

[System Notification]